confessions from the bathroom sink
by Jasmine Sayer | July 10, 2023
tonight i beg of you,
strip me naked of all pretences
let us fester in the sinews of your bed
between bated breaths and
and sheathe me
so that i may rebirth a thousand excuses
for your fleeting gentleness.
suddenly, it is July,
the fields are burning.
i am ten with my mother’s dress in the palm of my hand
and she tells me i must bleed
ploughed and planted beneath the moon
i am nineteen when the blood turns sweet.
now barely twenty
please have mercy
i claw for Judith, Salome,
but in France, Joan is burning
all grit and bones and aching limbs in heat
bound for our devotion
ablaze beneath the white sun.
where the quicksand of supple flesh,
sifts through clenched fists,
a martyr caught upon salivating tongues,
she is char and metal and mud
and she blisters at the touch.
this is my mother’s mother’s body;
tonight i am the seed of her longing
plucked from the riverbed
in search of something to
sink my teeth into.
tomorrow i will dislodge, pretend to forget,
but tonight i burrow inside you,
find comfort in the rawness of this embrace
cloistered among the beads of sweat
between our writhing bodies.
i am not quite a whore,
not quite a lover.
shrouded in drunken obscurity,
we swallow names at midnight
and spit them into the sink at dawn. ∎
Words by Jasmine Sayer. Art by Federica Pescini.